


Four-Eyes

by her_silhouette



Series: Growing Pains [1]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2014), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Glasses, Turtle Tots, bay!turtles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 14:05:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2510438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/her_silhouette/pseuds/her_silhouette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision.” - Helen Keller. </p><p>Splinter knew that becoming the father of four baby turtles, he would have some issues. He just didn't see this one coming.</p><p>Tied in 2nd place for both "Best Chibi" and "Best Splinter" in Stealthy Stories 2014 TMNT Fanfiction Competition!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four-Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: I’m back! After a six year hiatus, I finally have some TMNT fan fiction for you (heh, or any kind of fan fiction for that matter). Let’s just say that the 2014 movie reawaken my writing muse. This was supposed to be a little short piece, but this took up a life of its own. This is based off of a true story, one that I will tell at the end. I think Donnie’s glasses are adorkable and I am not at all put off about how nerdy he is in the Bay movie. I tried to make this as accurate as possible in regards to four mutated ninja turtles and their equally mutated rat father.  
> As always, reviews are welcomed!

Title: Four-Eyes  
Fandom: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2014 Movie)  
Main Characters: Splinter & Donatello  
Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort  
Word Count: 7,339  
Rating: G (pure fluff, too young for swear words)  
Beta:  
Summary: “The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision.” Helen Keller. Splinter knew that becoming the father of four baby turtles, he would have some issues. He just didn’t see this one coming. 

\-----

When Splinter had assumed the father role to his four young charges, it was safe to say he had little experience raising children.  
He was bred to be a lab rat, to have experiments tested on him. His only interactions had been with the humans who had fed him and experimented on him. He never came in contact with other rats long enough to form bonds or to even have children. 

It wasn’t until Dr. O’Neil had chosen him to participate in ‘Project Renaissance’ that he was introduced to a human child, the good doctor’s own daughter. April, as she was called, was young and vivacious, had always been attentive to him. She gave him treats, talked to him, played with him, interacting with him like no other being had ever done with him. He watched her grow in the months it took for Dr. O’Neil and Eric Sacks to proceed to the next testing phase. More importantly, he watched how her father interacted with her and saw the love and care he had for his only child.

So as he raised the four young turtles, Splinter tried to mimic the example Dr. O’Neil had set forth. Of course, Splinter had missed April’s earlier years of development and so those years were filled with guesswork and what little he could catch from the upper world. They all had to deal with the growing pains, and Splinter knew he would make mistakes.

He’s just not sure how he allowed this mistake to get as far as it had. Splinter was sure the issue had shown itself well before the turtle’s sixth summer, but he had been preoccupied with the welfare of all four of his growing sons to notice that something was off with one of them. 

That was the summer Splinter had decided to start the turtles’ schooling. By then, it had started to become difficult to keep his sons’ attention with little games and they were starting to become more coherent and curious about the world outside of their little lair. While he wasn’t sure at what age other, more ‘normal’ children started their schooling, he figured he follow his instinct on this. The more they wanted to explore the world, they would need to know more about it to protect themselves.  
So lucky was he that the rat was able to rescue those work books for several different ages and grades from that burnt down bookstore on Fulton. It was impossible to get duplicates of everything so he resigned himself to copying all the assignments four times and keeping the original for himself when he taught the youngsters.  
It had started well. Splinter had previously taught them their numbers and letters verbally and walked them through their first few months, until he was sure his students knew how to work their assignments themselves. That’s when he started getting problems. 

Leonardo did well with his reading and his writing. In fact, his penmanship was nearly better than his own. But he got confused with his additions and subtractions, mostly because he got the numbers confused. Raphael was on the opposite spectrum. His math skills were excellent, able to do his counting without the visual aid both Leonardo and Michelangelo frequently used. He was so slow in reading, that it took almost twice as long to get him to finish his assignments. Michelangelo’s work was actually good, but he lacked focus and was often caught doodling rather than doing his work. As for Donatello…

Donatello just did not do the work. 

At least, not on his own. When Splinter verbally read out the assignment, Donatello always finished first and was almost always correct. But when left to his own devices, Donatello would just sit and look around at his brothers or his father. To make things worse, his penmanship was disturbingly horrid, not even Raphael’s shaky letters held a candle. His lines were crooked and would either be too cramped together or too spaced out. There was no uniformity, as if every time he wrote a letter he had forgotten how it was supposed to go. 

This was truly unfortunate, because it was this son he had been most excited to teach. It was this son that had shown early intellect, even as an infant. He was the first to walk and explore while his brothers were still getting used to their newly extended appendages. It had been Donatello who had both spoken his first word (‘Plinter!) and had had an extended vocabulary before his brothers even said theirs. His command of the English language soon surpassed Splinter’s. His eyes shown with hidden cleverness and a thirst for knowledge. For sure, Splinter had thought he would excel in a learning environment, but he was starting to despair. Perhaps those early signs of brilliance had been just a fluke and Donatello was not the prodigy he had originally thought. 

Splinter tried to help his wayward student. But short of reading everything to him, he couldn’t figure out how to support his son. 

They had just finished with their lesson of the day when his youngest came running into the main area with a blanket and a book. The rat was startled out of his musings about what to do about Donatello and smiled as he started to open his arms to the fast moving youngster but Michelangelo completely bypassed his father and ran to what everyone came to know as Donatello’s corner. 

“Donnie! Donnie!” Michelangelo squealed, waving his treasures as he moved towards his brother. Splinter watched his progress until the turtle was standing right in front of Donatello, staying stationary, though his feet did not stop moving. Donatello looked up from the wires he was currently untangling, his hands never stop moving along the knot as he addressed the hyperactive child.

“Yes?”

“Can you read me ‘The Gingerman’ for me, please?!” Michelangelo begged. “Please, please, please, please!”

The sitting turtle heaved a heavy sigh. “It’s The Gingerbread Man,” Donatello corrected as he pulled a wire free from the mess in his lap. Splinter felt his stomach sink. With the problems Donatello had been having in their ‘classroom,’ he did not want Donatello to feel embarrassed.

“Michelangelo,” Splinter interrupted the youngest turtle’s pleas. “How about you let me-“

Michelangelo turned at his waist so he could look at his father. “But Donnie does the voices the best!” He turned back to the boy sitting in the corner, “Oh, please, please, please, please!”

Splinter opened his mouth again to insist the youngest to leave his brother alone, but Donatello had already stopped playing with the wires and set them aside. He extending his now free hands to grab the book and Michelangelo squealed in delight. Within seconds, Michelangelo had his blanket over his shoulders, tucked against his immediate older brother as Donatello opened the book to the beginning of the book. Without hesitation, Donatello started telling the story and Splinter had no choice but to sit back and observe.

“Once upon a time, a little old woman and a little old man lived in a cottage,” Donatello read in a warm voice, both calm and intriguing. “One day, the little old woman made a gingerbread man. She gave him currants for eyes and cherries for buttons. She put him in the oven to bake.”

Michelangelo was enthralled already, his eyes huge and bright as he looked at the pictures in the book as Donatello turned the page and read on. Splinter let the words wash over him without really listening to them as he watched his two youngest become engrossed in the tale of the living gingerbread man. It was one of the first books Splinter had brought to their home. He had found it abandoned in a park, a place he had gone in the early days to watch other parents and how they interacted with their children as a learning tool. He remembered reading it to Donatello a few times when he had been a baby, who didn’t have the same sleep schedule as his brothers and had needed an added incentive to close his inquisitive eyes. 

“’Run, run, as fast as you can!” Donatello’s voice rose to a falsetto as he read as the title character, “You can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man!” Michelangelo giggled as the funny sounding voice.

The rat could not hold back the smile, for Donatello had done the exact same thing when he had read it to him. He would squeal and giggle, and then he would slap at the book in delight. 

Donatello continued the story, allowing his voice to change with every new character, and Splinter was just watched this gentle turtle read to his baby brother. But as he watched, he noticed something was off in the way he read. He said the words and turned the pages. Michelangelo’s eyes would move from word to word when he was not gawking at the pictures, but Donatello…

Donatello’s eyes never moved. 

At first, Splinter thought he could not have seen that right. Of course his eyes had to move if he was reading the words. But as Donatello continued on with the story, Splinter watched all the movements he could from him. He moved his head to rest upon his brother’s head. His left hand tightened its hold the book as his right hand turned the page. His chest expanded after every couple of sentences. His mouth quirked when spoke as the gingerbread man. But his eyes remained motionless, staring unseeing at the book in front of him.

It finally dawned on Splinter what Donatello was doing. He wasn’t reading at all, but quoting the entire book from memory. 

Donatello couldn’t read. 

‘But that can’t be right!’ Splinter thought. ‘He knows his letters! He writes and reads in class.’

But does he really, though? Donatello’s handwriting is abysmal and he spends ‘reading time’ looking off in the distance.  
Splinter listened as Donatello finished ‘reading’ to his younger brother, who was fast asleep before he finished, coming to a decision. As turtle finished the last sentence of the story, he put down the book and gave a gentle kiss on the top of Michelangelo’s sleeping head. Splinter smiled at this, it appears Donatello mimicked everything he did when he read.

The rat stood up as Donatello reached to the side of him to start playing with the wires again. He looked up at his father as he moved to stand in front of him and blinked at him. Splinter gave him a gentle smile and bent down and lifted the sleeping turtle from off of his brother’s side. Donatello shifted out of the way to allow his father better access and watched him move Michelangelo across the room to their shared bed. It was just a lumpy full-sized mattress placed on the floor. But it was nice and comfortable when he had brothers to sleep on and under. 

As soon as Splinter had his youngest settled, he turned back to his other sons. Donatello was still in his corner, the wires moving around his hands. Raphael and Leonardo were playing (silently, for once) with some beat up toys he had found when they washed down into the sewer. The eldest was playing with the plastic toy soldier and his immediate younger brother was allowing the soldier to ride the little toy truck with a missing wheel. He turned his attention back to Donatello and gave a little sigh. 

“Donatello,” he called softly and he saw his son look up, “Come with me to my room, please.”

“Ooooh,” his other two sons toned softly, believing their brother was in trouble. At the time, before the hashi, Splinter had the belief that praise should be done in public, but individual punishments were done in private. There was nothing more private than Splinter’s room in their small little underground home. 

Donatello got up and followed his father, his head bowed in shame. Obviously, he believed he was in trouble, too, and Splinter was hesitant to say anything in earshot of his other children for Donatello’s sake. He opened the curtain of his little room and closed it behind Donatello. He waited a moment, to make sure he didn’t hear any little turtle feet scurrying to try to listen, but was satisfied with the apparently lack of curiosity Donatello’s older brothers shown. 

Splinter’s room, as he called it, was not really a room, more of an alcove separated from the main room with a curtain rod and a ratty curtain. An old camp cot was his bed and a small stool was used as a table that held a single candle and a book. Splinter moved the book to the bed as he lit the candle, to allow him to be able to see his young son. He sat down at the edge of his cot and looked at Donatello. Even sitting, Splinter was still taller than his son, though he suspected Donatello would soon catch up with his other brother’s in height, if not surpass them. But right now, the young turtle’s shoulders were hunched and wouldn’t meet Splinter’s eyes. 

“Donatello, I am concerned about you,” Splinter started, speaking gently. “You are falling behind in your school lessons. You are not doing the work, and I think I know what the problem is.”

Donatello flinched, but his head remained bowed. 

“I know you might be embarrassed, but I understand,” his father continued, “But there is nothing to be ashamed of if you cannot read.”

At that, Donatello’s head shot up and looked confused. “But I can read!” 

Splinter hadn’t expected loud exclamation from his normally quiet son. “Donatello, I just observed you. You were not reading the book to Michelangelo. You were telling the story, but your eyes did not move.”

Donatello blinked. “I didn’t need to read it. I had it memorized.”

“Yes,” Splinter said slowly, “But during lessons, you never finish your work, unless I read them to you.”

The low light did not allow Splinter to see every detail, but he barely make out the darkening of his son’s cheeks. He gently placed a hand on the turtle’s shoulder. 

“If you can read, why do you not do your work?”

Donatello bit his lip, his eyes blinking rapidly. 

“Donatello?”

The insistent tone in Splinter’s voice seemed to finally break the silence. “The words disappeared.”

Splinter felt his ears jump forward, sure he misunderstood what his son had told him. “Disappeared?”

Donatello nodded, keeping his eyes down.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “They disappeared.”

Confusion filled the rat’s thoughts, unsure how words could just disappear. “How did they disappear, my son?”

Donatello paused for a moment, before taking a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The books all had words in them before, but now they don’t. And the pictures are fuzzy.”

“Fuzzy,” Splinter murmured. It took a moment to contemplate that word before understanding flooded his mind. He stared in shock at his young pupil and straightened his back slightly.

Slowly, he lifted up his right hand so that it was at the same height as his shoulder and held up two fingers. 

“My son,” Splinter’s voice was soft, “How many fingers am I hold up?”

Donatello lifted his head slowly and looked in the area of his father’s right shoulder. Splinter watched his son squint at his hand, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. His stomach sank as tears started to form in Donatello’s eyes. 

Those teary eyes blinked as he spoke softly, “T-two?”

It was an educated guess, and they both knew it. Splinter lowered his hand and gently wiped the tears that were starting to fall from his son’s eyes. “Donatello, why did you not tell me you could not see?”

Donatello sniffed and shrugged his shoulders, clearly embarrassed that this secret was out. 

“How long have you not been able to see the words?” Donatello looked reluctant to answer. “Donatello?”

“A-awhile.” 

Splinter closed his eyes and let out a silent sigh. The tiny turtle looked extremely reluctant to continue this conversation and Splinter could not blame him. As it were, it did not matter how long Donatello had been unable to see. The issue right now was how they were going to rectify the problem.

‘Glasses,’ Splinter thought. ‘We need to get him some glasses.’

But that, he knew, was going to be much easier said than done. He didn’t know exactly what the process was, but he knew it had to involve doctors and money, both things that this family did not have access to. He stared down at the now silently crying child and pulled him into an embrace. He murmured quietly, trying to sooth his distraught son but was reluctant to stop his tears. 

This child was the most dispassionate of his brothers, even rivaling Leonardo’s usual stoicism. Instead the loud outburst of emotions that Raphael or Michelangelo were fond of, Donatello would become quiet and withdrawn. Even Leonardo could get worked up in an argument with his most hotheaded brother, but Donatello remained silent. Scraped knees were poked and prodded at instead of whined about, bruises received the same treatment, and the harsh words meant to draw a reaction were only returned with sharp-witted accuracy. So Splinter let this bright turtle cry his eyes out without the prying eyes of his brothers, allowing all those pent up emotions a quiet haven to be released. He sat there with Donatello curled up into his arms for a couple hours. 

The only disturbance was when Splinter felt rather than heard the curtain that served as his door move slightly. Splinter lifted his head and saw the curious eyes of his eldest peeking worriedly at his father and crying brother. The rat nodded his head, silently relaying that he had everything well in hand. The turtle nodded and fell back, closing the curtain tight behind him. Splinter’s fine hearing allowed him to hear Leonardo whispered words of reassurance to his immediate younger brother and their quiet footsteps leading away. 

By the time Donatello had well and truly worn himself out, Splinter stood with his sleeping son cradled in his arms. He exited his room and moved to the shared bed. Michelangelo was still asleep, spread out surprisingly far for his little body when his brothers were not crowding around him. Gently, he placed his brother next to the snoring turtle, who immediately curled up around the newly placed turtle. Donatello had grimaced when he felt the warmth of his father leave him but had given a happy sigh when Michelangelo had wrapped himself his octopus-like arms around him.

Across the room, the two other turtles watched quietly as Splinter kissed the two sleeping sons’ heads and tugged the blanked from under the youngest and wrapped it around both of them. He backed away from the bed and moved back into the main area. He looked preoccupied as he sat down in his chair and remained silent.

Leonardo shared a look at his brother before turning back to his father. “Dad?”

Splinter turned his head to his oldest and gave a small smile. “Yes, my son?”

“Is Donnie going to be alright?” Splinter allowed his smile to falter for only a small moment before replacing it.

“Yes, Leonardo,” Splinter said softly, mindful of the sleeping turtles ten yards away. “Yes, he will be alright, eventually.”

Raphael looked cross, perhaps at the word ‘eventually.’ “Is there anythin’ we can do?” he asked. 

Splinter started to shake his head, not wanting to burden his children with this dilemma, but he stopped himself. This was something that will affect the family, whether a solution was found or not. They would need to help Donatello with his needs until he could get a pair of glasses, and if they could not, well…that was a bridge they would have to cross when that happens. From how Donatello described his predicament, his eyesight had gradually gotten worse, and there was that fear of total blindness for his son in the future. 

“Yes, Raphael, I need you to make me a cup of tea, if you please. Leonardo, could you grab that encyclopedia with the letter ‘E’ on it from the bookshelf? I need to do some “research,” as Donatello would put it.” 

As his sons quickly dropped the toys they were only half-hearted playing with at that point and ran off to their appointed tasks. Raphael to the small hotplate that Donatello had magically repaired two years ago so they wouldn’t have to use the stove all of the time, since it was very old and would cause their small area to become sweltering hot in the summer time. Leonardo went to the tilted bookcase and picked up the desired volume of incomplete encyclopedia set that had been rescued from a dumpster a few months ago. Splinter had brought it back specifically for Donatello, who at the time only mildly glanced through only one of the books. While his disinterested behavior was now explained, but it had shocked and disheartened the rat at the time. 

As his sons brought him the requested items, he thanked each of them. “I need to read a little bit, then, perhaps we can all look into helping Donatello.” The eldest brothers nodded their heads quickly, excited at the prospect of helping their father with anything. With the limited space they had, and the small amount of toys that had been rescued for them, life was very boring for five-year-old turtles and the thought of doing anything useful was a great way to break the monotony that is their daily life. 

Splinter smiled at his eager sons as they returned to playing with their toys, but noticed how they kept their heads cocked in his direction, as if they were trying to watch him without his notice. He knew that they were faking patience and had wanted to be ready when he required their help. While these two turtles were the more likely to butt heads, their readiness to help one of their brothers was one of the things that drew the two together. He shook his head slightly, wondering how they were going to interact with each other when they get old and the younger ones start to require less looking after. 

He opened the encyclopedia and flipped to the page that had the word ‘eye’ at the top and started reading. He knew he had a long few nights ahead of him.

\-----

“Is this the piece?”

Donatello looked up from the electronic laying in his lap at the blurry hand shoved into his face. He bit back the sigh that was trying to escape his lips. He knew his brothers were only trying to help him with this…situation, but at times like this, it felt like their assistances were more of a hindrance than anything else. 

Raphael seemed to have a harder time of understanding how he could help than the others. Raph was a doer, preferring diving into action as opposed to sitting back and planning. There wasn’t much he could do but assist Donatello with his more physical needs. Of course, Donnie’s sight wasn’t so bad he couldn’t walk around unaided, but there were little things that he still had issues with smaller tasks, such as his homework and his own personal projects. Currently, the scientific minded turtle was working on a game boy that he had found last month after it had accidently fallen down a street drain. It was hard enough to try and fix something he had never worked with before, but to add to the fact that he couldn’t see the objects properly, made it even tougher. So that’s what Raph’s job was, to be Donnie’s eyes while he worked on this project. The techy turtle had successfully taken the object apart based on his sense of touch alone, but once he had the parts and pieces spread out in his little corner, it was tougher to find all of them. And while his immediate older brother had seemed interested in the mechanics of moving objects, he still didn’t understand the difference between a flat-head screw driver and a Philips. He also didn’t seem to understand the concept that putting something closer to one’s eye doesn’t necessarily mean that they could see it any clearer. In fact, in Donatello’s case, he felt he saw things clearer the further away the item was, though distance always caused the viewer to loose specific details. 

Donatello grabbed the offending appendage and trusted it away from his face, hoping the distance would allow the part to become clearer to him. But no, Raphael’s hand was still too close and he bit back another sigh. Instead, he gently took the item from Raph’s hand, closed his eyes, and tried to use his finger tips to determine what part it was. 

“No,” Donnie stated and held out the piece to allow Raphael to take it, since he did not want to poke his brother’s eye out by trying to aim for his hands. “It’s supposed to be a perfect square, even on all sides. And probably blue, but it could look purple under this light.” Donatello felt the part get taken non-too-gently from his hands and heard the item get dropped on the ground. He winced and hoped that the part would still be functional when he would need to use it. 

“Sorry,” Raph mumbled, not bothering to hide the sigh. No, this tedious task and waiting for their plan to work was not his favorite part of the day. 

The planning was more Leonardo’s forte, along with the patience to deal with his visually impaired brother. But his eldest brother was across the flipping through the encyclopedia again, trying to set to memory the words Splinter had taken in a few weeks ago. Normally, Leo preferred books filled with heroic characters and dashing sword fights, and Donatello appreciated the sacrifice his stoic brother made in putting The Three Musketeers down before he was able to finish it to take over researching Donnie’s eye sight problems while Splinter tried to not only take care of his regular fatherly duties, but also make extra trips to the streets to find a solution to what has been named, “The Problem.” But Leo was starting to become frustrated with the lack of progress he was making with the limited answers he was getting from books, no matter how patient he was. 

Michelangelo, surprisingly, had been the most helpful of the three, perhaps it was because he was the most sympathetic. He listened to what Donatello wanted rather than assume he knew what was best for him, like Leo, or treated him like an invalid, like Raph. He waited patiently for Don to ask for assistance and quickly did little tasks without griping. But he was a little too energetic for delicate tasks such as this one, and thus Don would spend his time with Mikey telling stories. Because he had so many of their favorite stories memorized, he would help Mikey with his reading based on his memory. He knew, without a second of a doubt, what words his younger brother would miss and help him correct his pronunciation. 

But right now, Mikey was off with Splinter, helping him with a food run, and Donnie was starting to feel the effects of straining his eyes that was resulting in a headache. The pain had been gradually getting worse and worse for the past few months, as his eyesight began becoming blurrier and blurrier. Splinter had been fearful when he finally found out about the headaches that that something might have been something wrong with his head that was causing the pain and blurry vision. But now Don knew, from the research Splinter and Leo were gathering for him, that his brain was trying to compensate for what his eyes lacked and thus caused the pain he was now experiencing. 

“Stop that.” 

A gruff voice sounded out next to him and he felt a hand grab his own and pull it away from his eyes. Without realizing it, Donatello found that he had been rubbing his eyes to try and relieve the pressure building up from them. “If ya have a headache, juss say somthin’.”

Don smiled sheepishly at Raphael, who was just a green blob in his face. He shifted his head back a little to try and see the details of his brother’s face but it was no use.

“Ya want some tea?” Raph asked, the frown on his face was evident in his voice, even if the younger turtle couldn’t see it. A strong tea seemed to be the only way to ease the pain in his head aside from those reddish pills. But medicine and pills were a rare commodity, and Donnie refused to take any of them unless the pain was really bad and even then it took some coaxing from Splinter and Mikey to get him to take it. And seeing as neither of them were there at the moment, the only way the hot headed brother could do to get him to take it was to shove it down his throat and Raph would rather not get punished for choking his brother into submission. 

“Y-yes,” Donnie said softly, “Thank you.”

“Whatever.” The voice was still rough but he heard the relief in his voice. It was better to have Raph do something productive than sit there and wait for Don to tell him which parts he gave him were the right ones. 

From the corner of his vision, he saw Leo’s blurry head lift up from his research and look towards him.

“You okay, Donnie?” Leo asked softly, trying to make sure that his voice didn’t travel to the only other occupant in their abode. Again, Donatello could only guess at the expression on his brother’s face, but it was easier because he was further away and much less blurry. Plus, his voice was just laced with concern.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “I was just trying too hard.”

A sigh could be heard and it was quickly followed by the closing of a book. Leo sat up and stretched a little, probably a little sore from laying on his stomach for such an extended period of time (3 hours). 

“I don’t understand, though,” Leo continued in the same soft voice. “Why?”

“Why what?” Donatello inquired. Why was he trying to hard?

There was a pregnant pause as the sounds of Raphael putting the pot of tea on the hot plate filled the space. 

“Why didn’t you say anything about your eyes before?”

Donatello froze at the question. It was roughly the same question Splinter had asked when all of this had come to a head. He had been able to get out of answering his father, then, when he had become overwhelmed with the confrontation and the rat kindly let it go.  
His avoidance in answering the question wasn’t because he was afraid of what his family will say, but more of the fact that he didn’t know what he would say. Because he really didn’t even know why he neglected to mention how slowly, but surely, the world in his immediate vicinity him was becoming less focused, more obscure. That the letters he had seen clearly from his father’s lap during story time were becoming blurry around the edges once he held them closer to him. That he could no longer count the freckles on his younger brother’s cheeks, though he knew that there were 35 of them before. He couldn’t comprehend why he could readily see things further away from him more easily than those right in front of his face. He had thought that it was normal, because the change had be gradual. Surely, this thing was happening to his family as well, and since nobody else was saying anything, he didn’t either.

He had been indignant when Splinter assumed his problem had been his reading skills, or the presumed lack-there-of. He had be very proud of the fact that he had been the first to read out of his brothers. Being able to understand what those squiggly lines actually meant in those papered objects was something he was most proud of. He lorded over his brothers in the most peculiar way, by constantly reading to them, whether they had wanted to listen to a story or not. 

By the time he realized that this was not the norm that his brothers and father were not experiencing the same things as he was, months had already past and shame had seeped in. He already knew that they were different from the beings above, that they had to be cautious because of their…abnormalities. He also knew he was different from his siblings, being wordier and less active of the four. Raph and Mikey already picked on him for this, he didn’t need anything else add to their arsenal of jokes played at his expense. He didn’t need Leo looking down on him for any weakness his sharp eyes could find. He wanted to be just like his brothers, but this, this strange way of seeing the world, was just yet another thing that separated him from his siblings and he just couldn’t handle admitting it. 

How can a five-year-old brainy turtle mutant tell his family he just wanted to be normal?

But before this usually eloquent turtle could even try to form a sentence to how these events had come to pass that would appease his nosy older brother, there was loud bang at the entrance of their lair and a streak of green passed through the front.

“DOOOOONNIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEE!” 

Donatello winced and closed his eyes, bracing himself for a Michelangelo sized impact when he heard his younger brother’s excited squeal. But the impact never came and Don slowly opened his eyes to see just a blur of blue and green, which he had guessed was Mikey’s face right in his own and he jerked his head back.

“Ack!” Donatello yelped, feeling his brother’s excited breathing across his mouth, “Stop that!”

Michelangelo backed up a bit, perhaps realizing his unwanted intrusion to his older brother’s personal space, but he continued his verbal attack. “Donnie! Donnie! Donnie! Donnie!”

“What?” he asked as he noticed movement behind his animated brother’s head. He could see Splinter, much clearer than he could see the turtle in front of him, calmly closing the door that Michelangelo had banged open, carrying a white-ish sack that Don had guessed to be food. There was a pleasant smile upon the rats face and he seemed relaxed, which was odd because Splinter had been noticeably tense and troubled since the problems with his vision had been discovered. Don turned his attention back to the blurry turtle in front of him, just now being able to make out that the younger turtle had something in his hands.

“Try these! Try these!” Donatello tilted his head back, trying to gain some distance to try and see the object better but it was still too close. But before Donatello could even think about grabbing them to feel them, Mikey’s hand shot out and placed the item upon his face.

‘Oh,’ Donatello thought. ‘Glasses.’

He should have assumed that those were the object in his brother’s hands, because this was the fifth time in the past two weeks one of his brothers or his father had brought home a piece of eyewear for him. Each hopeful that this pair would be the one, and sadly, were left in disappointment when none of them matched the right ‘prescription’ their brainy brother needed to see. 

And alas, the pair that rested upon Donatello’s face also didn’t meet the criteria. His vision was just as blurry, perhaps even more so than before and he quickly took them off. By then, Raphael had finished with the tea and was just a few feet away with a mug clasped in both of his tiny hands, but he made no move to bring it to his brother. Leonardo was also now nearby, the encyclopedia long forgotten in the excitement. Waves of disappointment rolled off of them, as Donnie knew they would, but surprisingly, Mikey still exuded enthusiasm. 

“No?” he giggled, taking the glasses away and tossing them to the side, “Then how about these?”

Another pair was produced and Donatello wasted no time trying them on. A better prescription, but still not strong enough. Don shook his head and handed them back.  
But it didn’t seem the youngster was going to be dissuaded, he just merely produced another pair. Donatello hesitated then, confused.

Apparently, Raph was also and suddenly piped in with, “Juss how many of those you got?”

Mikey gave a full blown laugh and held out a smaller bag, this one a dirty brown color. “Lots and lots and lots!” He backed up, surprisingly mindful of the project Donatello had laid out in his area and upturned the bag in a clear area, where there was indeed, lots and lots of eye glasses cascading out of the bag and onto the ground with high pitched clinks. Donatello couldn’t see them enough to count, but he could tell there were way more than ten pairs. He lifted his head in amazement as his other two brothers oo’d and aa’d over Mike’s bounty. Splinter joined them at that moment, sackless, and his smile was evident in his voice.

“There is a vision center two blocks away from the market we frequent. Michelangelo and I were lucky enough to pass by when the own decided to throw away his trash for the evening. From the looks of these, they are either defects or broken ones that could not be repaired to the original owner’s satisfaction. Michelangelo is very hopeful that we will find a decent pair for you in this pile.”

Donnie stared at the pile on the floor, feeling his heart start beating harder in excitement. But he bit his lip, reluctant to get his hopes up like the last five times. Though, statistically speaking, he would have a better luck with this pile than before, but still…

Suddenly, Don felt a pair of hands be placed upon his shoulders, giving a gentle squeeze meant for reassurance. Then the hands became insistent, pushing him slightly forward, closer to the pile of eyewear and then downward. He followed the hands’ instructions and sat in front his father and brother’s loot. As soon as he sat down, he looked up and saw the blurry, upside down visage of Leonardo. The band of white the split let Donnie know that he was giving him an encouraging smile. 

“Let’s get this party started then!” Raph also lowered himself down near the pile in front of Donnie, the tea placed someone off to the side, and started sorting through the glasses. Leo stayed behind him, his hands resting comfortably upon his shoulders and watched as Mikey joined in the sorting. Before long, the two turtles took turns handing Donatello glasses to try on. 

The first few pairs held similar results as before, with them being either too strong or too weak.  
Then, magic happened when Mikey handed him a pair of tortoiseshell glasses that had a crack at the bridge. Don had already put the glasses on his face and started to reach for a pair from Raphael when he paused. He stared for a moment at Raph’s hand and the pair that rested in them before realizing it wasn’t a blurry green hand holding a red blob, but that he was actually a hand and a red pair of glasses he saw. He turned away from Raph’s extended hand and turned to see the expectant face of Mikey hovering closer than before. Donnie blinked a couple of times before giving him a tentative smile.

“You’ve got two more freckles.”

Mikey gave a squeal and tackled the now bespectacled turtle into Leonardo, who caught them both before they toppled onto the ground. 

Raphael quickly tossed the pair in his hands to the ground and quickly grabbed the youngest brother, pulling him away from the amused Donatello. “Careful, doofus. Don’t go breakin’ them glasses already.”

“Dude, dude, dude, dude!” Mikey yelled breathlessly as he hoped up and down with Raphael’s arms still around him. “You can totally see! That’s so awesome! Isn’t it awesome, Raphie? Donnie can see! Donnie can see!”

“Don’t call me Raphie,” the second oldest turtle exclaimed grumpily, but smiled down at his immediate younger brother, who was still pressed against Leo after Mikey’s tackle. 

“Dude!” Mikey stopped jumping up and down, and he leaned over, causing Raph to tighten his hold. “You’re eyes are, like, so big!”

Donnie couldn’t contain the smile on his face. “That is because these glasses are slightly convex, which means it’s curved outward. When light passes through it and bends, or refracts, it causes the object you see through it to appear larger and-“

As Donatello gave his brothers a lesson in magnification, he felt a warm, soft paw place itself on his head. He glanced up and smiled brighter at the rat the paw was connected to. He saw the content smile on his father’s face and for the first time in weeks, in months, actually, Donnie felt everything was going to be alright.

\-----

Regular lessons resumed after a few days. While they were working on Donatello’s sight problem, Splinter chose to be a little lax due to the amount of time he used in researching his son’s condition, and then searching for the right pair of glasses. He had originally thought it would be prudent to cancel lessons for the time being, but Donatello had actually protested, saying it was unfair for his brothers to miss out on their education while dealing with his “problem.” So Splinter had continued to teach his pupils, but at a slower pace and used more group work than individual tests. Because of their help with the research and the search, he had allowed his sons a few days off to allow his now bespectacled son to get used to his new clearer vision. 

But now he set their lessons back to normal, and the change in Donatello’s grades showed dramatically. Before he obtained his glasses, he had been several weeks behind in his personal lessons. But he was able to catch up in just a week, and soon surpassed his brothers in almost every lesson. Not only that, his penmanship improved tremendously and Splinter started to have to set limits to how many words he was allowed to write in his essays. 

As they grew older, Splinter tried to find ways to challenge his brilliant son until he had come to realize that Donatello’s learning abilities far surpassed anything Splinter could scrounge around and had excused him from all academic lessons to allow his prodigy to obtain his education on his own.

But Donatello was never far from his family during that time. He was to go-to tutor for all subjects, trilingual by the time he was ten, was fluent in three others by 14, and could probably have gotten his doctorate in quantum physics by the time April O’Neil showed up, had he been human. 

His family enjoyed a relatively comfortable existence down in the sewer thanks to him. While Splinter was grateful that he was able to help give his son the gift of sight, he was more than sure that Donatello’s own special vision extended to beyond what he could see with those glasses perched upon his beak. No doubt, this intelligent turtle would use his determination and ingenuity to create the wonders he sees from him every day. 

Splinter was relieved that whatever mistakes he has made as a father, or whatever trials this life throws at them, they are able to handle it. That they’ll be able to weather any storm, together.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note 2: True story time:
> 
> In the 1st grade, I wasn't doing the assignments on the board and my teacher was completely fed up with me, so she made me sit at the desk next to hers, right at the back of the classroom. Sometime in the middle of the school year, the school did mandatory sight and hearing tests. Surprise, surprise, it turned out I was nearsighted, and had to wear glasses all the time. A few weeks after I started wearing glasses, they had a teacher/parent conference where the teacher gushed about how better of a student I was and she had no idea what happened to turn my “attitude” around.
> 
> My mom stared at the teacher, and then at my desk, still at the back of the room, and said, “Yes, it’s amazing how a visually impaired child can finally see the board when the teacher places her at the back of the classroom.” The look on my teacher’s face was hilarious.
> 
> In all honesty, though, I was a difficult child and ran my mouth. Also, I showed none of the regular signs of being visually impaired, such as sitting closer to the TV or even squinting. So that is the basis of this story, and how easy it is for someone to overlook this kind of situation.
> 
> Also, another note, from what I saw, Donatello in the new movie is farsighted, based on his glasses. Being nearsighted, my glasses makes my eyes look smaller, but I have friends who are really farsighted, and their glasses makes their eyes huge.


End file.
